Background Knowledge: I've gotten really used to Turkish style transport and I'm not going to lie -- I like it. Yes, it can be overcrowded. Sure, there is no published schedule. True, it can be so hot that at times I have actually glanced around to see if Satan is riding with me -- but he's never on board. The temperature is exceedingly high in the winter only because Turks won't open windows due to their belief system that drafts will kill.
Don't worry, Satan's at home. Just me and 3 million other regular folks on the bus today.
However, Turkish public transport is clean, reliable and best of all...QUIET. It took me a minute to get used to the fact that people really aren't allowed to speak at a normal volume when riding buses and trains. But you know what? I kind of love it.
Anyway, back to the terrifying metro ride.
My friends and I had already screwed up royally because we thought we could catch a shuttle to "the far away mall" for holiday shopping but apparently that shuttle stopped existing. So after twiddling our thumbs for close to an hour we decided to try a different method of transportation.
We ended up on the Metro, which was fine. However, on this particular day things were a little...peculiar. People were getting their stare on - standard - but there was one man specifically that kind of gave me the creeps. And that is because he was protectively standing over a box that was splattered in blood.
At first I thought I was hallucinating, my go-to response when I see something out of the ordinary. I had already put in an hour and a half of travel time to a destination that was still another 45 minutes away and my hanger had begun to cloud my senses. But when my friend elbowed me in the rib and said, "God! People are extra stare-y today," I couldn't help myself and I blurted out, "Yeah, and that guy over there is trying to hide dismembered body parts in a cardboard box."
My friend looked in the direction towards which I was nodding my head in a nonchalant manner and I heard her quietly gasp. "Holy shit," she whispered discreetly, "his box is covered in blood and he's totally staring at you." Then she added as an afterthought, "Do you think he wants to kill you?"
"Yes," I responded confidently. "He thinks I'm weak and is probably deciding right now if he should just chop me up or if he should save my skin in order to make a shirt that he can wear as a trophy."
She laughed a little, perhaps because she thought I was kidding.
Then I became distracted by a group of heavily intoxicated teenage boys whom had entered stage left. They began yelling in chant about the football game they had just attended. They were swinging their empty whiskey bottles around and stumbling into other passengers on the already full train.